


Expectations

by Joanne_c



Category: Talented Mr Ripley (1999)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28127316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_c/pseuds/Joanne_c
Summary: In a canon divergence, Meredith Logue and Marge Sherwood end up in the same place in several different senses of the word.
Relationships: Meredith Logue/Marge Sherwood
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Expectations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [summerdayghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerdayghost/gifts).



Marge only spent a few days in Rome. It was almost all foolish romanticism that she’d even tried. It wasn’t like Dickie hadn’t made it crystal clear that things were over. So she boarded a train for Novanzaro. It wasn’t like there was anything for her back in Mongibello, after all.

She sat alone in the first class carriage until the train was about to leave, when a woman of around her age came in and took a seat not too far away. Close enough to talk if Marge wanted but far enough she could politely ignore her presence. For now, Marge chose the latter, but she figured she would talk eventually.

She remained quiet through several small villages, and accepted a cup of tea from the porter. She then looked over at her travelling companion. “Join me?” she saw the other woman also had tea.

“Sure,” and she brough her tea to Marge’s row, placing her cup on the small table. “Meredith Logue, please just call me Meredith.”

“Marge Sherwood,” she answered and thought she saw a flash of recognition in Meredith’s eyes. But it was gone after a moment. “Marge,” she added, politely.

“What takes you to Novanzaro?” Meredith asked as they sipped their tea.

For a moment, Marge thought she would make up an excuse, but she answered, truthfully. “Nowhere else to go. How about you?”

“Kind of the same, but also I’m going to check out the silk fabric they make, see if it would be of use to my family,” Meredith answered.

“Oh, that Logue!” Marge was wearing one of the company’s travel suits as it happened.

“Yep, the one on your back,” Meredith teased. “So,” she said, a bit more seriously. “It can be a little dangerous if you’re travelling alone, want to team up?”

Marge hadn’t thought of that, but it wasn’t a bad idea. “Sure,” she nodded.

The rest of the train trip was passed in casual conversation, discussion of shared acquaintances, and firm avoidance of discussing men once they both discovered they’d recently broken up with someone.

At dinner in the hotel that night – there was only one worth the name in the town, so of course both were staying there – wine flowed and after some delicious seafood, Marge’s tongue loosened. 

“I’m not even sure I want to get married,” she said. “Not because of the recent thing,” though that was a part of it of course. “I mean, I waited almost three years for him to give me a ring and he didn’t. So why would I even bother?”

“Expectations?” Meredith suggested, with a sigh. “I mean, they say it’s okay for us to go to college but it’s not like we can do more, is it? So we end up here, living the good life, but that only lasts so long.”

“Expectations, that’s a good word,” Marge nodded. She bit her lip, and decided not to say more. “It’s getting late, want to meet before breakfast for a swim, before you have to go look at fabric?”

“Only if you come with me, unless you have other plans,” Meredith answered.

“I’m sick of lying on the beach every day where the only thing that actually changes is the name of the town or sometimes the cocktails,” Marge answered. “So that’s a yes. Goodnight, Meredith,” and she pushed her chair back.

Meredith noted the dinner gown, also a Logue creation. “Goodnight, Marge.”

Swimming the next morning was followed by a delicious light breakfast, then Marge went upstairs, meeting Meredith in the lobby. Marge was dressed in a navy blue pantsuit and Meredith had opted for separates in dark green, the blouse having white polka dots.

The next few hours were spent oohing and aahing over the extremely beautiful silk. Meredith knew from the first moment that it would be suitable, and she was able to sign the makers to a contract with her family’s company.

Once that was done, Marge and Meredith shopped in the small boutique already attached. Marge purchased three print blouses, a dress in a vivid red, and a pale blue nightbown. Meredith picked out a nightgown in white, and a dress the same shade as Marge’s nightgown.

Going back to the hotel, Meredith smiled. “You enjoyed shopping.”

“I do when someone isn’t always telling me to hurry,” Marge answered. “Men are so bad at that.”

“They are,” Meredith agreed.

They went back to the hotel and it was late enough for an early cocktail. Though neither had had lunch, it didn’t matter, any more than it ever had in Mongibello. It was probably later than they really started drinking there, come to think of it.

That didn’t mean the cocktails didn’t go to both women’s heads a little. They got giggly and silly and somehow got up to Marge’s hotel room before passing out – or falling asleep.

Marge woke first, groaning softly as her head throbbed. She smiled over at Meredith, still sleeping. She was turning out to be such good company.

She leaned over, and without a thought, kissed Meredith’s cheek to wake her. Or at least that was the intention. Meredith turned in her sleep, and Marge’s lips slid over hers. Marge didn’t move back, though. Meredith’s lips felt so soft. She pressed her lips closer, and Meredith’s lips parted.

That shocked Marge. “You’re awake?”

“I have been for a couple of mintues. But you don’t have to stop if you don’t want to.”

Marge’s answer was to kiss Meredith again, and they kissed for a long time.

“Have you done this before?” Meredith asked when they paused for breath.

“Boarding school, long ago… you?”

“I like women more than men, much to my family’s disapproval,” Meredith answered, shocking Marge – in a good way. “I think it’s why men never really work out for me.”

“Hmmm, maybe I should consider re-visiting that side of things,” Marge said.

Meredith laughed. “I thought we were.”

“No, we were kissing. There’s much more to it than that…”

“You’re telling me?” Meredith asked, with a lazy, sensual grin. “So do we do this now, or eat?”

“Oh I want to eat… but food? Can wait,” Marge answered, with a wicked grin.

Hands explored, removing buttons and clothes and underwear and Marge gasped as she felt a touch that knew what it was doing more than any man she’d ever been with, tumbling into an orgasm from Meredith’s fingers on her clit in about five seconds.

She reciprocated, with tongue and lips, but it took a lot longer for Meredith, and Marge grinned up from between her legs. “You taste amazing…”

“Turn around so I can return the compliment – and the favour,” Meredith answered, and Marge moved around until her lower lips were meeting Meredith’s mouth.

They lazily exchanged several orgasms, until other appetites proved more insistent and they showered and headed downstairs for a late dinner.

Over another delicious meal, Marge gathered her courage. “So,” she said, biting her lip. “How do you feel about seeing if this is something we want to have happen again?”

“Again? I’m resisting making you the main course,” Meredith said. “But,” turning serious, “yes. Back home? I think Italy has given me all it can now.”

“Back home,” Marge agreed. She felt exactly the same. There was nothing more in Italy for her, and everything in Meredith’s eyes and lips.

**Author's Note:**

> In all canon divergences in my world, but especially this one, Peter lives.


End file.
